How to Teach Filthy Rich Girls Read Online Free PDF

but judging by the low buildings and prop planes parked nearby, I wasn‘t heading to Florida in a 757.
    ―Excuse me, sir?‖ I called to the front. ―Are we in the right place?‖
    ―Not to worry.‖ The driver had a thick accent. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.
    ―I know where you are going. Your boss, Debra Wurtzel‖—he pronounced it Vets - el—
    ―gave to Boris ex-plea-cit instructions. Sit back and enjoy ride.‖
    Enjoy ride. That was a joke. How could you ―enjoy ride‖ when you didn‘t ―know destination‖?
    Boris turned onto a service road, showed some identification at a security checkpoint, and then—to my shock—drove right out onto a tarmac. We rolled to a stop next to a jet with a dozen windows and the letters LL elegantly entwined on the tail.
    ―Your plane,‖ Boris announced.
    ―What‘s LL?‖ James asked.
    ―No clue.‖ I made no move to get out of the car.
    James squeezed my hand again. ―It‘ll be okay. Maybe you‘ll have time to do some writing? And I‘ll see you in ten days for Thanksgiving.‖
    What finally got me out of the car was remembering what Debra had said—if I didn‘t like what I found in Florida, I could get right back on this plane and fly home. Oh-kay, then.

    I thanked Boris. Then, hand in hand, James and I crossed the tarmac to the Gulfstream.
    A flight attendant stood at the bottom of the steps. She wore an impeccable black suit with a nipped waist, the kind actresses wore in the forties.
    ―Ms. Smith?‖ she asked pleasantly.
    My stomach was turning vomit cartwheels. ―Yes.‖
    ―I‘m Adrienne. I‘ll be your flight attendant today.‖ She had the faintest trace of a southern accent. ―You‘re traveling alone, correct?‖
    ―Unless I can kidnap my boyfriend.‖ I looked hopefully at James.
    ―Do you have any bags?‖ Adrienne asked.
    ―Just this.‖ I held up my tattered navy blue JanSport. ―But I can carry—‖
    ―No worries.‖ Adrienne took my backpack. ―I‘ll see you aboard. We‘ll take off as soon as you‘re ready. May I prepare a beverage for you?‖
    My mouth opened. No sound came out.
    ―You can decide when you‘re aboard.‖ She smiled and headed up the steps and into the plane.
    Now it was just James and me, in a setting that felt way too much like Casablanca , except in, you know, New Jersey.
    ―I‘ll call you when I get there. Wherever there turns out to be. And just in case I don‘t come back tonight . . .‖ I pressed up against his chest and gave him what I hoped was a memorable kiss and my best Bogart impression. ―We‘ll always have Teterboro.‖
    Forty minutes, three hundred miles, and thirty thousand feet of altitude later, the Gulfstream was somewhere high above Virginia. There‘d been a decent amount of turbulence, so I‘d been confined to my plush white leather seat, where I sipped a bottle of FIJI water. Finally, though, the air had turned smooth.
    Adrienne came to me. ―Feel free to walk around. Captain says it‘s fine. Can I prepare your lunch?‖
    ―Oh, I‘m fine, really,‖ I told her. ―But thank you.‖
    ―Something simple, then,‖ she told me with a wink.
    As she moved back toward the galley, I unlatched my seat belt and gave myself a tour of the cabin, having been too freaked out before takeoff to do much more than huddle in the first seat directly behind the cockpit. Not that I was a stranger to airplanes. I‘d even been bumped to first class once. But a good look at the inside of the Gulfstream was enough for me to conclude that people who own private jets do not fly like you and me.

    Just behind me, there was a semicircle of white leather seats facing a sixty-two-inch plasma high-definition television and a state-of-the-art sound system. Each seat had its own pink marble TV table, with recesses for cups and plates. Beyond was a small room with a pink toile-covered queen-size bed. And then there was the bathroom.
    I don‘t know about you, but I‘ve always found airplane bathrooms a